


i set my clocks early 'cause i know i'm always late

by theamazingpeterparker



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, American History, Fluff, M/M, Professor Zayn, TA Niall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:24:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3315776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theamazingpeterparker/pseuds/theamazingpeterparker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contrary to popular belief, signing up to be a TA in the US History to 1865 freshman course might be the best decision Niall's ever made.</p><p>Or, the one where Zayn reads a lot of books, and Harry reassures Niall that there's nothing wrong with wanting to sleep with your professor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i set my clocks early 'cause i know i'm always late

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe i wrote this and i blame it entirely on 2AM and clare. probably one of the most self-indulgent things i've written thus far in my life ?  
> title's from 'a little less sixteen candles a little more touch me' by fall out boy.

Niall’s naturally late for the Spring TA registration and it’s naturally Harry’s fault, his roommate insisting on going out for “one drink” that turned into Niall sleeping past the 10AM sign up opening. The Astronomy and Astrology courses he was hoping for are taken, the Biology and Ecosystems classes he had as second choices are taken, every class in the College of Science and Mathematics is taken. He loses more time sifting through the available options, tries to sign up for a Geography class but by the time the page loads on his laptop the position’s filled already. Desperation leads him to the College of Humanities and he lands on _U.S. History to 1865 (*freshman requirement),_ and it’s either this or an Early Childhood Development class. And, as little interest as Niall has in colonial American history, he has even less interest in a classroom of screaming preschoolers.

Niall gets his outlines a week later in an email from the professor,

_Mr. Niall Horan;_

_Thank you for your registration as my assistant this semester. I’ve attached the course’s syllabus, as well as the required textbooks (which, for you, aren’t necessarily required, but I would suggest you brush up on your US history, anyway). I was hoping to meet you in person before classes start; I can lend you my textbooks if you think you’ll need them. Let me know whatever day and time works for you._

_Best,_

_Dr. Zayn Malik_  
  


There’s only one textbook but three novels required and Niall’s always hated reading for classes. He hasn’t touched any book since high school, and only took one history class his junior year of high school because it was a requirement. He wants to be an astronautics professor, for fuck’s sake. The humanities are absolutely not a place he ever wanted to find himself again–passing his college composition classes were hard enough, and now he’s got a professor who’s expecting him to be educated on early American history. Niall makes a mental note to smother Harry in his sleep while he taps out a polite reply, he and Dr. Malik’s meeting set for the end of the week.

Harry has to fix Niall’s tie twice the morning of the appointment because Niall keep fiddling with it over breakfast, hasn’t gotten dressed up since the internship he has last summer at ARINC. He doesn’t know what to even bring, does he bring anything? A resume, a comprehensive knowledge of the thirteen colonies? Wine? Harry talks him down from his nerves as he bangs around the kitchen making his tea, finished his TA semester last year and says it’s a piece of cake, if he just kisses the prof’s ass. The pep talk doesn’t make Niall feel any better, but he tucks his resume into a folder on his way out, just to feel less shaky.

Niall finds Dr. Malik’s office easily enough, considering he’s never stepped foot into the College of Humanities building, navigates himself to the second floor with two minutes to spare.

“Can I help you?” the girl at reception asks.

“Uh. Yeah. I have an appointment with Dr. Malik at 2?”

The girl casts a glance across the lounge to an open office door with the lights off and _Professor Zayn Malik_ mounted on the mailbox next to the doorway. “I’m sure he’ll be in shortly,” she finally says decidedly with a shrug, offers Niall a mint while he waits.

It’s 2:15 and just enough time that’s passed where Niall’s started to convince himself he showed up at the wrong time. He’s checking his email again to make sure he’s at the right place and time, when a man comes shuffling into the department, shrugging off a black overcoat and giving a soft hello to the receptionist. Niall doesn’t think anything of it until the man rounds the corner with a warm smile, hand extended. “You must be Niall Horan?”

It absolutely does not at all register in Niall’s brain that this is the professor he’s been waiting on. He shakes the man’s hand dumbly, gives a hesitant smile and nod and the man grins wider. “Excellent. I’m sorry I’m late, I got caught up at lunch with a colleague. I’m Dr. Malik.”

Dr. Malik doesn’t wait for any more confirmation, already turning and leading the way towards his dark office and Niall hesitates back, tries to get a look at him while he turns on his light and grabs a handful of papers from his mailbox. He looks young, younger than what Niall expected the History professors to be at least, sleek black hair that’s somewhat rumpled already, the hint of a tattoo under the sleeve of his sweater vest. Young and absolutely handsome, the kind of professor all the freshman girls blush and giggle about after meetings with him and the kind of professor that all the guys try to be cool around. No wonder Dr. Malik’s hotness rating on ratemyprofessor was through the roof. Niall gets it, now.

“Come in, come in. I’m sorry for the clutter,” he apologizes, waving Niall into the cramped office, a tiny desk and computer pushed against the back wall window, the other two walls taken up by bookshelves. Even then there’s not enough space for all the books and folders. The professor somehow maneuvers a stack of papers and textbooks away from the edge of his desk and invites Niall to sit in the spare chair before squeezing himself around the books to sit behind the computer. It feels like it should be a tense few moments of getting settled, but it’s not. Niall’s preoccupied enough reading all the spines of books to his left, an entire shelf consisting of mostly World War I books. “Impressive collection, Dr. Malik,” Niall notes quietly, doesn’t expect much of a reaction but the man throws him a wild, bright grin as he moves a box of books off his chair.

“Sorry,” Dr. Malik finally breathes again once they’re both settled and Niall gives him a reassuring smile. Can’t believe that the man has apologized four times within the last ten minutes for things he didn’t even need to apologize for. “You can call me Zayn, also. Just not in front of the kids. I have to maintain some level of control, right. So. Early US History.” he raps a ringed middle finger against the wood of his desk and tucks his other fist under his chin, scruffs his knuckles through his beard. “Were you late to registration?”

Niall almost, _almost_ lies for a second, before he wisely figures that lying to his boss is a bad start. “Yeah. Yes. How did you know?”

The older man smirks, looks over at his computer screen and moves towards the keyboard to log in. “I never get TAs for that class, unless they’re desperate, or avid history buffs. And considering your file said you’re a science guy who didn’t register until three in the afternoon…”

Niall huffs a self-deprecating chuckle and holds up his resume when Zayn looks back at him. “I, uh, brought a résumé, if you wanted to see it. But it looks like it might get lost in with all the other manila folders.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and mutters _jokester already_ , holds out a hand and snaps his fingers and Niall hands it over. Niall goes back to reading book spines, taken off guard when there’s a _thump_ on the desk in front of him.

“These are the books for this semester,” Zayn explains, eyes still skimming Niall’s résumé. Niall leans forward to take the stack. Gordon Wood’s _The American Revolution: A History_ , Nathaniel Philbrick’s _Mayflower_ , Harriet Beecher Stowe’s _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_ and the textbook _America’s Birth to 1865._ Niall prays that Sparknotes’ summaries of all three books are thorough. “From the looks of this, you haven’t touched any historical books for a long time. Am I wrong?” Zayn interrupts, glancing up from the folder.

Niall’s confidence disappears for a second, Zayn settling Niall with a steady amber-eyed stare and Niall thinks about lying, again. He can understand why Zayn’s ratemyprofessor reviews called him _intimidating_ now, too. “No. Got a C+ in my US History class in high school, though.”

Zayn makes a noise in the back of his throat, goes back to studying the resume. He doesn’t seem that impressed. Which doesn’t make sense, because Niall’s résumé is really goddamn impressive. 4.0 GPA for his undergrad and three internships under some of the biggest manufacturers and researchers for space programs. And Zayn’s squinting at it like he disapproves. “What’s the last book you read, Niall?”

“Vonnegut, probably. _Slaughterhouse Five_.”

Zayn hums and bites the end of his pen. “We might overlap more than you think,” he says offhandedly, flicks the folder shut. “So, we have two classes, both Mondays and Wednesdays. One is a 10:45 and the second is a 3:15. I’m always late for my classes, and usually kids respect that but sometimes the freshman try to take advantage of it. So try to be on time, even if I’m not.” Zayn pauses, makes a face and looks down at the notebook in front of him. “In all honestly, I have no idea what your duties are other than that. The last TA I got was two years ago. Soooo…..” the _so_ turns into a trailed off hum. Niall can’t tell if Zayn’s just disinterested or truly didn’t have a gameplan for this meeting. “Because the class is a requirement, it’s probably going to be split 50/50 in terms of kids who want to participate and those who just want the credits. I’ve only taught this class for three years, but every year it’s pretty obvious who really cares and who doesn’t. So you’ll probably help lead discussions, and then outside of the classroom, grade papers with me. You want to be a professor?”

Niall nods, tries not to perk up too much at the mention but Zayn laughs under his breath and waves a hand. “Okay. Tell me about that, then.”

“I would love to go back to my old high school and teach, I think. Or at a higher college level, too, which is why I’m doing this. I just woke up too late to get into the Astronomy courses,” he adds with a playful smile, hopes that Zayn doesn’t take the jab too seriously but the professor is still smiling over at him, “Astronautics because I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut. I’ve done a few internships with big businesses and science centers but then I had a nephew, and I started teaching him about space as soon as he was old enough to open a book. And figured that that’s the road I really wanted to go down. Graduated with all the science degrees, and now I just have to get all my teaching out of the way. Now it’s just a matter of...who I want to teach. And how.”

Zayn nods slowly at that, seems to mull it over while he rolls his sleeves up to reveal dark waves of tattoos on one forearm and an intricate mandala design on the other wrist. He doesn’t see Niall staring because he’s already standing up and coming around the desk, hunting through his bookshelf. He sighs happily when he finds what he’s looking for, turns and offers Niall a worn down paperback. “ _Total Cold War_ ,” he smiles. “It’s more about Eisenhower’s secret plans and stuff, communist scare tactics and shit, but there’s a few really great chapters about the space race in there.”

It’s that wave of intimidation again, the feeling that if Niall doesn’t take the book, Zayn’s going to fire him before the first day of class. Zayn must notice the flush that heats Niall’s cheeks because he laughs, genuine and loud. He wraps the book in his hands, curls the paperback in on itself and shrugs. “Obviously you don’t have to read it, man. I’m not gonna, like, quiz you.” He holds it out again with a smile that’s shockingly disarming. He could probably be offering Niall a gun and Niall would take it. “Just trying to find some common ground, is all.”

Niall takes the book without hesitation this time with a soft _thanks_ and flicks through it quickly. It feels easier, now, this small gift that reassures Niall that Zayn’s _not_ some psychotically strict old man, and that maybe this won’t be that bad. He tries not to think too much about how Zayn’s now standing next to him, leaning on his desk.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Zayn finally asks, once Niall’s finished flipping through the middle section of the book, a few glossy pictures of early Russian satellites and American attempts at the first few space suit designs.

“Do you like this class? Teaching it I mean?” Niall can’t help but ask, because from where he’s sitting he can’t see a single early American history book. There’s three copies of _All Quiet On the Western Front_ next to him though, all in varying degrees of condition.

Niall decides that Zayn isn’t disinterested in anything, while he waits for Zayn to decide how to reply. He’s just precise with his answers. Zayn goes back to worrying at his beard before he admits slowly, “It’s not necessarily my favorite class, but it is one of the most important. I specialized in military history when I was in school. So when we get to the civil war I get kind of excitable.”

Niall grins. “That much, I can understand.” Harry’s not allowed to watch Syfy channel in their apartment because it sets Niall off on rants about aliens. So maybe there’s more common ground in this cramped office than Niall thought.

Niall reads the entire book that weekend, started with the Space Race section and finds himself halfway through the rest of the book, finishes it just because he can. And maybe there’s an excitement to wanting to give Zayn his book back so soon and prove that he read all of it.

Zayn wasn’t wrong when he warned Niall about his chronic lateness. The first day of class Niall’s there first and four students mistake him for the professor. Niall just smiles sweetly and corrects them, _I’m the TA, just Niall._ It’s a class of forty kids and all of them are there ten minutes before class even starts, some talking excitedly to friends they’ve already found and others looking completely disinterested. They’re a little restless when 10:50 hits and Zayn still hasn’t showed up and Niall moves to the front table to pull out his textbook. “Dr. Malik has a habit of being late,” he tells them easily. He surprises himself with how casual he makes himself sound, like he and Zayn are old colleagues. Zayn appears five minutes later, doesn’t look rushed or frazzled whatsoever as he strolls across the lecture hall to his table and shakes Niall’s hand.

The first thing Zayn does, after introducing himself and Niall, is takes a vote on who wants to do any typical first day of class ice breakers and read the syllabus. There’s a handful of votes, kids who are still half-asleep and don’t want class to officially start yet. Zayn clicks his tongue, claps his hands together. He’s in a different groove than he was when he met Niall, his sleepy slow voice gone as soon as he picks up one of the dry erase markers. “The votes have it! No ice breakers! Excellent, because frankly, I don’t care what you all did over winter break, and I will learn your names soon enough. I got the complete DVD set of Breaking Bad and watched it all in two weeks, in case you’re wondering just exactly how cool of a professor I am. Niall, what did you do?”

It takes Niall by surprise but he blurts the first thing that comes to his mind, his face already reddening before he’s finished saying it, “Read that book you recommended me. And built the entire Lego model of the Millenium Falcon.”

The class chuckles a bit at that and Zayn throws Niall a radiant smile and a wink before he’s spinning on his heel towards the board. “So. Before we can even touch the Revolutionary War, we gotta jump back another 200 years or so…”

The content for the first few weeks is almost unbearably boring, but somehow, Zayn keeps every student awake. Most of the girls have migrated to the front row by the third class, all of them eager to answer the occasional questions that Zayn tosses out between discussion.

The students (and Niall) figure out pretty quickly that it’s easy to get Zayn sidetracked, too.

“Professor Malik,” Anna in the second row interrupts as Zayn’s finishing out his explanation of Roanoke, and gearing up to talk about why England still persisted in colonizing, “What was going on on the west coast during this? Was it just Native Americans?”

“Good question. If not completely random,” Zayn allows slowly, gives the girl a nod and paces for a few moments. “It turns out that British sailors had already found their way to the west. In 1579 there was this guy, Francis Drake. He was a pirate, English pirate. Spaniards hated him, King Philip the Second was offering bounties for him, quite the thief. Quite the explorer, too.” Zayn pauses, grins down at his shoes and shakes his head the way he does when he realizes the class has managed to get him off track. “So he makes his way around Cape Horn, and manages to capture two Spanish ships. The one, _Cacafuego_ , was a treasure ship. Gold, jewels, silver, anything you can imagine, he got it. He turns north, hoping to find more ships that are leaving Manila, but he winds up needing repairs and what have you, and lands in California. San Francisco bay area, really. He stays there for a bit, declares the area _Nova Albion_ , New Britain for Queen Elizabeth I. Historians think that he did leave some of his crew behind to try and start a colony, but there’s not enough evidence for it to be as well-known as what was going on back east. So. Technically, you could argue that California was the _first_ New England.” He pauses again, taps his marker against his chin. “Which, if any of you are willing to write a paper defending or disproving that point, I might offer extra credit. Now. Jamestown, who knows anything about it?”

When Niall finally returns Zayn’s book he ends up having lunch with him in the office, feels like a totally different meeting than their first one a month ago. “Are you enjoying the class?” Zayn asks around a mouthful of potato chips, his paper bag lunch sitting on top of Lincoln’s biography.

“The content or the delivery?” Niall jokes, blushes but doesn’t look away when Zayn gives him a steady look and leans forward in his chair.

“Both.”

And that’s when Niall has to look away, because he doesn’t think he can answer that seriously. “Don’t most professors, like, grade and shit on their lunch breaks?”

When he glances back over the desk, Zayn’s jaw twitches, mouth pulling into a smirk and he leans back again, takes a sip from his water bottle. “I do, but not when I’m having lunch with colleagues. I also have about twenty proposals to read for the honor society, which I am avoiding. How’d you like the book?”

Niall looks down again, picking at the corner of his napkin. “I read the whole thing,” he admits with a laugh, “turns out I was more interested in cold war propaganda than I thought.”

Zayn smiles the same smile from the first day of class, something bright and small and asks, “You want another one?”

Zayn gives him two this time; Buzz Aldrin’s new book about the potential of Mars exploration and _Killer Angels_ , which Niall definitely read the Sparknotes version of his sophomore year in high school. “You don’t have to read them,” Zayn reminds him again, even though _Killer Angels_ is worn down, dog-eared with small pencil notes just as _Total Cold War_ had had. It had been Niall’s favorite part of the whole book, Zayn’s tiny comments and underlined commentary. He desperately wants to ask what they all meant, if Zayn had read it for work or if that’s just something he does in his spare time, if Zayn’s always been such an avid reader, if he’s really read every single book crammed into this office. Why he has multiple copies of the same books. If he shares his own books with other people often.

“Both,” Niall decides eventually, tucking the two books into his backpack at his feet. “Content and delivery,” he clarifies at Zayn’s confused expression. “It’s a good class to help out with.”

“I think I wanna fuck my professor,” Niall bursts as soon as he gets home that night, Harry on the couch tinkering with his film negatives that are spread across the coffee table.

“What?”

“I think I wanna fuck my professor,” Niall deadpans again, drops his bag in the hallway and moves into the kitchen, cracks a beer and drops the frying pan twice when he tries pulling it out of the cabinet. Harry leans against the doorway and watches Niall get out bread, cheese, butter, and a knife, and then angrily hip-thrusts the silverware drawer shut.

“Are you going to elaborate on that?”

It isn’t until Niall has a grilled cheese pressed into the frying pan that he finally sighs, scrubs a hand across his forehead. “Zayn. Dr. Malik. I think I was flirting with him today.”

Niall flips his sandwich and Harry doesn’t reply, just stands with his eyebrows raised as if he’s waiting for more of an explanation. “Yeah...so?”

“So? Harry, I just told you I wanted to _fuck my boss_.”

“Niall, do you really think you’re the first person to want to screw your professor? The whole TA/Professor _thing_ is, like, as old as shit.”

Niall drops his sandwich onto a plate and finally turns to face Harry fully. “Did _you_ do it?”

Harry makes a face, shudders, and turns back towards the living room. “Ew, of course not. Dr. Maxwell wasn’t exactly….at his prime, if you will. Come on, come show me him.”

Niall isn’t exactly jumping for joy at the knowledge that this isn’t a rare thing, but he’s still weary when Harry pulls up the university’s website and taps _Malik_ into the search bar. All that comes up is his academic achievements, a paper on racism within the American military and a thesis about international military’s reaction regarding the Palestine conflict. No pictures, no bio. Harry gives Niall a doubtful look and Niall just stays silent, munching on his grilled cheese. He lets Harry run through the same stalking tactics that Niall used a month ago, searching the faculty pages, Google, Facebook, and there’s no pictures of Zayn. Just his papers, his academic achievements and a locked twitter account with a photo of the university’s crest as the icon. “Well that’s not fair,” Harry pouts eventually after going through four pages of _Zayn Malik_ results on facebook and coming up empty handed. “Is he, like, weird?”

Niall shakes his head and shrugs, feels less panicked about the whole thing than he did an hour ago. “No. Just private, I think. Not that I blame him, like. He’s a professor.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to have the best TA affair ever, that’s not fair,” Harry says again, ignoring Niall’s defensive “uhh!” and snatching Niall’s beer, downing the rest of it. “Maybe I’ll come by that building some time. Use the whole ‘photo student studying campus architecture’ excuse.”

“Has that honestly ever been a valid excuse for you?”

Harry sticks his tongue out. “If i say it nice enough, of course it has.”

Zayn shaves his beard clean off over the weekend and walks into class on Monday to utter silence. Niall’s even struck dumb when Zayn comes in five minutes late today, shrugs off his jacket and  opens his notes to start class as usual and Sarah Miller gasps, “Professor?”

Zayn looks five years younger when he looks up, starts rolling up his sleeves like he does every morning. “Is there a question?” he asks, completely unaware of the open-mouths around the room. He turns to look at Niall, who puts on his best, most innocent smile and lifts a shoulder in a shrug. Zayn gives him another small smile, shrugs back before turning to the board to start the lesson. Niall doesn’t hear a single word of it, too caught up in the fact that Zayn looks like he’s young enough to go out to the same parties that Niall and Harry hang out at.

That afternoon in Zayn’s office, he finds himself staring and Zayn catches him, Niall can’t look away fast enough.

“Is it the shave?” Zayn asks through a smirk, glances over at Niall from his computer screen. “I do it a few times a semester. It usually catches everyone off guard.”

Niall looks down at his sandwich and rips off a strip of crust. “Caught _me_ off guard,” he smiles as he eats the bread, looks up to see Zayn with his chin propped up on his hand. There’s no scruff for him to pick at but Niall watches him press one of his rings against the skin of his jaw, a habit Niall’s picked up on when Zayn’s thinking on his reply.

“Have you read either of those books yet?” Zayn settles on asking.

Niall’s face must give it away before he can answer because Zayn laughs, rubs his eyes. “Nobody _actually_ reads _Kill Angels,_ like, for their own enjoyment. Nobody in college, at least.”

Niall smiles and raps his knuckles on the desk between them. “Did _you_ read it in college? Willingly?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “If I say yes, will you make fun of me?”

“I’ll try not to.”

“I did read it. In undergrad. But I went to dinner with my TA and had him explain the parts I didn’t understand,” Zayn tails off, settles Niall with the look that means he’s waiting for Niall to answer a question.

Niall…isn’t exactly following. “So you _didn’t_ read it.”

Zayn covers his eyes with his hands and leans back, mouth open in a silent laugh. “Niall, I read it. I was trying to ask you to dinner without sounding like an idiot.”

Oh. _Oh._ Niall lets his elbows slip off from where they were resting on Zayn’s desk, starts fidgeting with his fingers in his lap. “You’re not gonna, like, quiz me on Gettysburg, are you?”

Zayn’s face softens to something Niall’s only ever seen in split-second looks tossed over shoulders during his lectures, laughing while he shakes his head. “No quizzes.”

Niall exhales dramatically, swipes a hand across his forehead. “Fantastic.”

Niall doesn’t tell Harry about the date because he can’t quite figure out if it _is_ a date and the rest of the week goes smoothly enough, Niall helping Zayn grade the first batch of papers due before spring break and having their usual lunch break together.

Niall finds out quickly that grading papers isn’t easy or fun, which is presumably why Zayn is constantly putting his proposals off. Zayn has to spend a whole afternoon giving Niall a rundown of Chicago Style papers and how to properly grade them, and even then Niall’s too polite to give any student less than a C+. Eventually they work out a system, Niall goes through each paper and marks it up for grammar and citation and Zayn has the final say in the letter grade, only pausing occasionally to argue over whether or not an A paper on Niall’s scale is really a C paper on Zayn’s scale. “You know if I was taking this class with you as a professor, I’d probably be failing?” Niall grumbles as Zayn gives another paper a solid B, and every paper so far has been better than anything Niall ever wrote in undergrad.

Zayn tosses him a smirk and reaches for the next paper in the stack, “You and I both know that I don’t have it in me to fail someone like you even if I could,” he admits with a casual shrug. Niall pretends not to notice the pink of Zayn’s neck under his collar when he says it.

 Niall’s almost forgotten about their plan until Zayn’s shrugging his peacoat on and gathering his briefcase together that Friday afternoon. Honestly, Niall doesn’t even know why Zayn carries a briefcase. All that’s in it is cigarettes, at least two worn paperbacks, and some crumpled memos that he takes out of his mailbox every afternoon and never looks at. And snacks. Niall’s positive that Zayn is probably late to class every morning because he’s busy raiding the vending machines of all their M&M’s. “Are we still on for tonight, yeah?” Zayn asks over his shoulder and turns to catch Niall examining his bookshelf.

“Yow know you have a copy of _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ here?” Niall asks instead, poking at the worn-down spine of the paperback that’s stuffed between _War and Peace_ and _The Communist Manifesto_.

Zayn’s mouth quirks up and he presses a finger to his lips. “You’re the first person to notice that,” he confesses after a beat, goes back to hunting his car keys out of his pocket. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“We’re still on, yeah,” Niall finally answers, tugging his own jacket over his shoulders and following Zayn out of the office. “Six? Which I guess means six-thirty.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and Niall’s come to understand that it’s an act of endearment. “Order lots of appetizers. But, for the record, I’m never late for dates.”

Zayn’s late by twenty minutes, apologizes to the hostess, waitress, and Niall as soon as he’s found their table and sits down.  “Sorry. I was about to leave and I remembered I had to feed Annie, spilled her water bowl all over my shirt--”

Niall’s already smiling around the rim of his pint glass, eyebrows raised. “You don’t usually give excuses as to why you’re late.” It’s the first time Niall’s seen Zayn outside campus and he spent the first twenty minutes tearing up breadsticks and worrying that it was going to be...weird, or inappropriate somehow, but as soon as Zayn slides into his seat it feels as if they’re back in his office. It’s not a fancy place but Niall’s still surprised to see Zayn not wearing a dress shirt or sweatervest. Instead he’s wearing jeans and a black shirt under an army jacket, a damp spot on the sleeve that proves his spilled-water excuse.

Zayn shrugs nonchalantly, reaching for one of the breadsticks in the basket between them. “I don’t owe the _students_ explanations. Mostly because whenever I’m late for class it’s because I overslept,” he pauses as he’s smearing butter onto the bread, points his knife at Niall. “Don’t tell them that.”

Niall crosses a finger over his chest and takes a breadstick for himself, works on tearing it into pieces on his plate. “Who’s Annie?”

“My dog. She’s a border collie, so she gets a little hyper if I’m not home all day to play,” Zayn explains in the same voice he uses when the class gets him off topic on some story. “I walk her and feed her when I get home but we had to skip the walk tonight, so. I promised I’d make it up to her tomorrow.”

Niall could sit and listen to Zayn talk all night, no different than the lecture hall. And then he’s reminded, oh yeah, this is a date, which means _conversation_ , after they order their dishes and Zayn asks, “is it weird that I don’t know that much about you?”

“What d’you mean?”

Zayn shrugs but sticks out his lower lip thoughtfully as he takes another breadstick. “I mean I don’t usually go on dates with people I don’t know real well. All I know about you is that you want to launch yourself into space and that you eat the same ham and cheese sandwich and Fritos everyday.”

There’s teasing under his voice, a small smile when he glances up at Niall. “Tell me something I don’t know. Something I couldn’t guess.”

Niall leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Am I really that predictable?”

Zayn hesitates and for a moment it feels as if he’s working out where their boundaries are before he nods towards Niall’s glass. “Is that Guinness?”

Niall tries to keep a straight face and fails, exhales _goddammit_ under his breath but smiles anyway. “That’s a given, though. Okay. Something you don’t know?....”

He chews it over for a bit but Zayn seems content with waiting, pushing a droplet of water around his plate with his straw when Niall finally answers, “Can you name all the countries that have had people on the International Space Station?”

Zayn makes a baffled face and Niall grins even wider, lists them off with ease, “USA, Japan, Russia, Netherlands, Italy, France, Canada, Brazil, Sweden, Germany, Belgium, Malaysia, South Africa, Spain and South Korea. Did you know Japan has a module that grows plants and fish? In space? And, like, sure the ISS is supposed to be all about everyone getting along! or whatever, but every country’s priorities are so different. How can they get it to work for fourteen years up there with no problem but every day in _your_ class there’s some new war to talk about?”

Zayn’s raises his eyebrows and scratches his chin. “I think this is the most excited I’ve seen you all semester. Did you study any of that for undergrad?”

“Did you really read all those books in your office because you had to?” Niall counters with a shrug. “Even though most of the books in my apartment are picture books, kinda. Space explains itself better with pictures.”

“So you’re into, what, the technical elements of it, then?”

Niall shrugs, pauses as their plates are delivered and they both thank the waitress. “There’s not much of a human element to it, is there?” and Zayn opens his mouth and Niall interrupts, “don’t answer that. I’m sure you could probably prove me wrong in thirty seconds. I just don’t really…” he shrugs, “I’m more interested in the bigger picture stuff, you know? No offense but the whole space race thing seems...petty to me. Like, only humans would be so stuck on claiming the moon as “America’s” instead of wanting to, like, I don’t know. See if there’s more out there.”

Zayn nods along for a bit, formulating his response around a mouthful of pasta. “So do you believe in aliens?”

“Yes,” Niall smiles without hesitation as he squirts ketchup onto his burger, “Absolutely yes. Guilty pleasure, a bit. My roommate gets all bent out of shape whenever I watch those awful documentaries, says I need to get a hobby instead of yell at the television.”

Zayn laughs into his glass of soda, waves a hand. “Everyone should be passionate about something.”

Niall hums around his burger at that, can’t help but wonder if Zayn is always right about everything.

“So did you see The Fourth Kind? Was it bullshit or was there credence to it?”

The conversations spiral after that, jumping from aliens to conspiracy theories back to dogs and over to comparing their undergrad experiences. Niall gets drunker and Zayn gets closer, until they’re both red in the face laughing and trying to figure out how to split the bill and cover their waitress’s tip. “I failed my gen ed math course twice,” Zayn wheezes as he puts another $10 bill on the table and Niall almost chokes on his water, he’s laughing so hard, “ _No_ , we don’t need another ten….we need...like….$7? Or $17? How much was your pasta?”

“I can cover the whole bill, Niall, honestly, you just get the tip--”

  
The bill comes out to be $27 and their give the waitress $47 by accident, leave her a $10 tip when she brings back their change because she’s been so patient with them and because neither of them have enough singles.

Zayn insists on driving Niall back to his flat, the younger man too drunk to figure out the bus schedule on his phone.

“Can I meet Annie?” Niall remembers as soon as he’s got his seatbelt buckled, “can we go back to yours? I wanna meet Annie.” And he sincerely does, Niall loves dogs, but Harry is also home at their flat and Niall’s not sure if he wants to give Zayn up just yet. Zayn side-eyes him from the drivers seat for a moment before he shrugs, puts the car into drive.

All of Zayn’s preset radio stations are hiphop or Top 40, something Niall definitely did not expect (though he wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, anyway. Classical, maybe. Or opera), but they both end up humming to the newest Taylor Swift song by the time they pull up to Zayn’s apartment building.

Zayn’s apartment is a bigger version of his office, stacks of books and DVDs and folders littering the sitting area and there’s a black and white dog who launches herself off the couch to race over to Zayn and Niall. Zayn apologizes when she jumps up on Niall’s legs but Niall insists that if he’s going to die, this is the way he wants to go. Zayn leaves Annie and Niall to get acquainted and comes back from the kitchen with two beers, joining Niall and the dog on the couch.

 “You got any alien movies?” Niall asks, letting his head fall over on the cushion to look at Zayn. “Or is it all. Like. Tivo’ed History Channel.”

“Star Wars,” Zayn offers with a smirk, “all of season three of that Face-Off show on Syfy recorded. Uuuuh. Might have Alien somewhere around here. There _was_ a special on the World Wars that I recorded last week that I was planning on watching--”

Niall only hesitates with a huff of breath before he kisses Zayn, exhales _isthisokay_ before he can take it any farther but Zayn’s expression has already changed into something focused, curious. He hums against Niall’s mouth and tucks a thumb against Niall’s jaw, keeping him close enough that Niall can almost taste Zayn’s cologne, the Sprite he had at the restaurant. Zayn’s breath stutters against Niall’s lips, enough that Niall moves from his mouth to down his neck, wants to taste and touch the smooth column of Zayn’s neck, once he’s gotten past the hair on Zayn’s jaw that he’s always worrying at.

“You can’t... _shit_...you can’t leave marks,” Zayn stutters when Niall bites down gently, “Someone might see?” There’s a hesitation, there, as if someone seeing wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“They won’t see, c’mon, _Professor_ ,” Niall laughs lightly, fingers working up under the hem of Zayn’s shirt and Zayn makes another small noise, arches his back so Niall can pull his shirt off. It’s the shock of inked skin that makes Niall pause, he knew Zayn had tattoos but he didn’t know it was this many, a whole sleeve with more that creep across his torso and his mouth finds its way to the collarbone one first, licks over _Friday?_ and makes a mental note to ask about these, later, because he’s busy right now. Zayn laughs into Niall’s mouth and hums for them to stand up, a trail of clothes already following them to the bedroom.

Niall wakes up because Zayn’s tapping at something, squints his eyes open just enough to see Zayn’s fingers clacking away at his laptop.

“What’r y’doin,” Niall grunts, rubs his eyes hard and pulls the blanket up to his chin and Zayn flinches, breaks out of his concentration to smile sleepily down at Niall.

“Professor Duke’s about to send off his last manuscript for his book, I’m doing some last-minute editing for him,” he replies easily, reaches over and takes a sip from a chipped _Pirates of the Caribbean_ mug.

“It’s, like, eight in the morning.”

“Yeah. Duke is a little Type-A,” Zayn mutters, offers Niall his coffee and Niall takes it, sitting up and leaning over Zayn’s shoulder to look at the screen.

“What’s it on?”

“Basically, you mean? PTSD throughout the years. He focuses a lot on ancient history, and, like, Sparta and China’s dynasties and Japanese samurais. I told him I can really only offer him help with modern wartimes,” Zayn answers without looking up from his screen, rubs his eyes and takes his coffee back for a sip. “You learn something new every day, or whatever.”

Niall hums, stays wedged against Zayn’s shoulder for a few more moments and lets his eyes roam down Zayn’s torso again, down to the black heart on his side that’s peeking out from the blankets pooled around his hips. He almost asks, opens his mouth to question what the Arabic script on his collarbone means, why he has _a pirate’s life for me_ on his ribs and _Bus 1_ on his hand. What he asks instead is, “what kind of cereal person are you, Zayn?”

It’s not weird, after that. Niall spends the rest of the weekend avoiding Harry’s knowing eyebrow-wags and rereading Zayn’s notes in _Killer Angels_ , some of the pencil marks so slight that they’re barely legible.

Monday, Zayn’s late for class by only ten minutes, launches right into the early stages of the Civil War with all the excitement he promised Niall he’d have at the beginning of the semester. Zayn’s all over the place today, covering both whiteboards with wildly-drawn maps and Zayn has a tendency to pace when he’s excited about a lesson, keeps nearly-tripping over the little ledge between the board and the floor but relentlessly carries on enthusiastically about Lincoln’s administration and the attack on Fort Sumter.

 Zayn only misses a beat when Niall leans over and clicks open his briefcase and takes Zayn’s bag of Reeses Pieces. He winks at Sarah and Alex who see him and Zayn only turns when he hears Niall open the crinkled package.

“Niall, what’s one thing Buchanan did that added to the tension prior to the Civil War?” Zayn asks coolly, only gets tough like this when students are sleeping or caught on their phone. Or, apparently, caught sneaking snacks from his briefcase.

Niall blushes and drops the candy between his fingers, gives Zayn a wild shrug until Sarah coughs _Dred Scott decision_ not very subtly and Niall grins. “Why, the Dred Scott decision, of course.”

Zayn looks like he’s holding back an eyeroll when he approaches Niall. He’s close enough that Niall gets a whiff of his cologne, a flashback to the _Friday_? tattoo that sits just below the collar of his dress shirt. Zayn holds out a hand and it takes Niall a moment to understand, pours a handful of the candy into Zayn’s palm and then the man turns back towards the board and continues his lecture as if the interruption had never happened.

Niall walks with Zayn back to his office like usual afterwards and Zayn stops them at the vending machine outside the department, waves a hand at the snacks. “Pick some stuff,” he says exasperatedly, nudging Niall with his elbow. “I can’t believe you picked my favorite candy today. I _know_ I had at least M &M’s and pretzels, and you had to pick the Reeses.”

Niall rolls his eyes and Zayn rolls his eyes back at him, Niall finally letting a bag of Swedish Fish and a bag of Goldfish crackers tumble out of the machine with the few dollars Zayn gave him.

Niall still takes Zayn’s bag of M&M’s during their lunch.

Friday nights become a regular thing for them, Niall going to Zayn’s and often it falls into Saturday mornings, Niall joining Zayn on his morning walks with Annie to go get coffee. He learns that yes, Zayn has read all of the books in his office, and all of the books in his house. He learns that Zayn makes notes in all his books, regardless of why he read them. Zayn learns that Niall’s too tall to be an astronaut, and that he had surgery on his knee his freshman year of undergrad which got him out of having to take his American History class requirement. Zayn learns the story of when Harry and Niall tried to keep a puppy in their dorm and their RA found out after a week, when the dog got loose and ran down the hall barking. Zayn learns that Niall is the type to fall asleep immediately after sex.

They don’t mean for it to overlap into their work but it seemed inevitable from the start, starts with Niall taking Zayn’s briefcase snacks during lectures to see how far he can push Zayn and ends with them kissing quietly in his office, Niall pressed up against the bookshelf and Zayn littering his neck with biting kisses because Niall may not be allowed to leave marks, but Zayn can.

They both start showing up late for their afternoon classes, Niall looking barely put-together and Zayn picking up his lectures as if he hadn’t just had Niall’s tongue in his mouth ten minutes prior.

Zayn only breaks character once, Niall had Zayn’s hips pinned against his bookshelf, Zayn’s hands scrambling for purchase around him while Niall blew him. Zayn fists one hand into Niall’s hair and the other hand pressed against his mouth to keep from groaning, biting down on one of his rings when he comes down Niall’s throat and Niall doesn’t hesitate to surge up and kiss him, bite his lips raw. It’s the first time that Zayn’s had to step out of his office looking completely fucked and Niall followed him out, almost giddy. Keeps pace a few steps behind to watch Zayn compose himself on the way to their 3:15. They’re only ten minutes late and Zayn gives Niall a half-panicked, half-amazed look before he smoothes his hand through his hair one more time as he steps into the classroom.

He holds it together for the first twenty minutes or so, focused entirely on drawing an extensive layout of Pickett’s Charge on the whiteboard. Niall sits at the desk and watches, making his way through a bag of Sour Patch Kids and not bothering to fix his rumpled shirt, his hair that’s still scuffed up from Zayn’s hands.

  
“Professor, what was Pickett--” John starts from the back and that’s when Zayn breaks character the slightest bit. He’d obviously thrown himself so thoroughly into the diagram on the board, intent on not looking at Niall that the voice throws him off. Zayn turns, catches Niall’s eye on accident and he calls out, “One sex, N--John, One second, John,” and takes a full six seconds to get back to his train of thought on the board amid the outburst of giggles.

Niall winks at Zayn and gets an eyeroll in return.

Next week, Niall gives Zayn a book that he’s positive Zayn’s read before but it’s the only book Niall’s read in his freetime. Zayn looks down at the copy of _Slaughterhouse Five_ Niall holds out to him, a brand new copy because Niall doesn’t have any book collections like Zayn. There’s already one worn copy of the Vonnegut book on the top shelf of Zayn’s bookcase but he grins all the same when Niall gives it to him.

“I haven’t read this since high school,” Zayn says, almost to himself until he looks up and beams at Niall. “Is this your copy?”

Niall just shrugs as he sits down and opens his lunchbag. “It’s my favorite book,” he allows slowly. It’s a hardcover, no private notes and the leftover peeling pricetag still on the back but Zayn’s already opening it, cracking the spine and taking the dustcover off. “It was the first book that got me really into. Like. Aliens,” he half-jokes but Zayn glances up at him seriously.

“I hope it’s okay?” Niall panics for a second, worried that he’s taken something a step too far and rushes to defend himself, “it’s just, it seems like you give out a lot of books and I wanted to, I don’t know--”

Zayn doesn’t seem like he’s listening, instead he’s opening to the title page where Niall had quickly scribbled _To: Dr. Zayn Malik, for showing a science guy there’s more common ground than he thought. From, Niall Horan_. He closes the book and looks up at Niall.

“Niall,” Zayn interrupts, and Zayn never interrupts, “Niall, I don’t give out a lot of books.” He stares at him hard, closes the book and raps a knuckle against the cover. “I don’t share my books with a lot of people.”

Niall opens his mouth and closes it again, lets his eyes wander over to the three copies of _All Quiet on the Western Front_ on the shelf next to him. “Do people give _you_ a lot of books?” he asks quietly and Zayn follows his gaze to the novels.

“The first copy of that is mine, from high school. The second is from my father, who didn’t think I had read it before. And the third copy was another copy I bought because my first copy is falling apart.”

The Vonnegut book looks out of place when Zayn puts it on the shelf closest to him, the only new, hardback book sitting next to all his little yellowed paperbacks but Zayn stares at it for the rest of their lunch and doesn’t stop smiling.

Niall learns by the end of the semester that the only reason Zayn can’t be found online is because he owns a flip phone and likes his privacy, learns that Zayn doesn’t drink on dates but always has beer and whiskey in his apartment. Niall learns that the only reason Zayn will wake up before ten o’clock in the morning is for Annie or for work-related things, and that Zayn has a collection of alien-related movies, and once Niall starts coming over, his Tivo is filled with documentaries about space. He learns that Zayn doesn’t give books out to anyone. And soon enough, Niall’s copy of _Slaughterhouse Five_ is just as worn as the rest of his books.


End file.
